Disordered
by JezebelDelilah
Summary: BeXRo AU This a very personal story. This may be triggering to those suffering from an eating disorder, as it is the main point. Please do not read if it will offend you or trigger you. I don't want that on my concience. Rated for themes and language.


**A/N: In case you haven't noticed, I'm a fan of one word titles. This is something a little different than my other stories. This is my own story pushed on the characters of Tamora Pierce's Terrior. It's AU, because I just couldn't sully Totall by putting this there. **

**Before I get any comments about this, I know that a lot of people are going to think that I want attention and pity for posting this. And that is not it, so shut your mouth. First off, you don't even know who I am in real life, so you have no right to judge. Second, this is part of a healing process for me. I am telling my story. Just read it if you want, don't if you don't. Honestly, it isn't the end of the world if no one reads this. **

**The last thing I need to say is that if you happen to be a sufferer of this, I advise looking up a website, . You have no idea how many people there are that know exactly what you feel. **

**Disclaimer: This is quite obviously not Tamora Pierce's books. If you think they are, you have obviously never read them. **

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**Beka rinsed her mouth out, feeling the acid ruining her teeth. Her dear friend Mia had had her way with her today. She had no illusions about herself. She was messed up, but not the only one. She was one of the ten million people in her country suffering from an eating disorder.

It wasn't pretty. She had thrown out multiple pairs of pants and shirts the had gotten ruined with splash back. Odd specks of discoloration had made her feel too exposed. She looked in the mirror and saw herself. Her eyes were bloodshot, but she didn't seem to have broken any blood vessels this time. Glancing down, she noted, with relief, that she didn't have any on her black shirt. Her pants were clear, too.

Her teeth still felt week, and her finger was raw. But she didn't feel so disgusting anymore. She had gotten rid of the pizza, and the tortilla chips.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she felt so lost. She didn't feel loved, oh Goddess, she did not feel loved. Before leaving the room, Beka meticulously went over the bathroom with a practiced eye. The toilet had flushed all incriminating evidence. The room did not smell. She wiped her eyes and crossed the hall to her room, a place that had come to be a heavenly prison.

She lay down, and thought over her day. For the fourth time that day, she had purged. The worst part about it was that she was getting to the point that she didn't even need to binge to feel bad anymore. For breakfast, she had eaten a yogurt and an apple, all washed down with a glass of water. That had gone in the porcelain bowl. Her one ham sandwich had gone down, too. As had her popcorn. Now, the pizza and tortilla chips had joined them.

Her stomach felt on fire, letting her know she was hungry again. But Beka just cried. She didn't want to eat again, she knew it would end the same way it had every other time. She was sick of kneeling in front of the thing that was soon becoming god-like to her. It was degrading and wrong.

Because her thoughts were already depressing, they turned onto something else. Rosto.

The one person who had ever made her feel whole. She hadn't felt gross around him, she hadn't always felt pretty, but she had never felt ugly.

And the bastard wasn't willing to give up his ways for her. He continued to get high instead of talking to her about what was wrong. The drugs made everything go away. Seven weeks ago, they had broken up, because she couldn't handle it anymore. All the broken promises. The way he was starting to make her feel not good enough.

Since that day, she had started getting sick. Sometimes, on good days, it was only once. On bad days, it could be eight times. But it was always everyday.

It was ten o' clock at night, and she decided to sleep. Tomorrow was Monday, the day she would be seeing him again. At school. Thankfully, he was in none of her classes.

The morning came, and she smoked a cigarette, her last. She would need to get someone to buy her a pack after school. With that thought in her mind, she set out on the half mile walk to school. As she entered the building, she dreaded getting breakfast.

Beka knew she would, though. She didn't have the control of the Ana's. She was a slave to her hunger and to food. She got a bagel and a muffin, with a chocolate milk. Her people skills had been suffering, as of late, so she sat by herself, pretending to read a book, to make people leave her alone. When the five minute bell rang, she walked to her locker to get her folder. A153. 36-25-18. A black folder with colored stripes in the middle.

She couldn't pay attention. The talk of the glass ceiling and minimum wage passed right over her occupied mind. Finally, she grabbed her planner, filled it out, and got the teacher's signature. As she left the room, she saw Aniki, her best friend, looking at her with sorrow in her eyes.

Shame made her steps quicker as she walked to the bathroom. No one was there, so she wouldn't have to pretend to use her phone until they left. The stall welcomed her twisted mind, locking her in in a more mental way that the flimsy one on the door.

As the bagel, with it's pink cream cheese came out, she felt the tension ease in her muscles. The muffin left. After Beka saw that evidence, she gagged herself more. Ten dry heaves, followed by one strictly stomach acid.

Her ritual complete, she watched it all enter the sewers with a flush, then rinsed her mouth out. After carefully inspecting her reflection, she returned to class. In the hall, she spritzed herself with her Japanese Cherry Blossom body spray, to cover any lingering scent of vomit.

Suddenly, her world halted. She stared at the ground, realizing just how screwed up she was. Beka had told Aniki, Kora, Rosto, and her family what was going on with her. As a matter of fact, today was supposed to be her first appointment with a counselor. And yet, she still covered her trail.

Beka continued toward her classroom. She thought of how premeditated murders were always covered up in the end, a sign of guilt.


End file.
